THROWING OUR HAT IN THE RING -- THANKS FOR NOT SMUSHING IT

HIYLH PRESIDENTIAL PARTY PLATFORM

Mission Statement:

Our publicly-stated goal is to get elected, but the party faithful and those "in" the know understand that we shall constantly be scouting prospective venues for a glittering concession party. (Can we please forgo the matzoh ball quesadillas this time?  Diversity does have its limits. Franks in a blanket, or at the very least, a macramé throw, should work quite nicely for the rank and file).

Party Slogan

"Together, We Can't Do Any Worse."

Fiscal Policy

Recognizing the importance of the consumer to our economy, we will encourage liberal spending. However, because, in many instances, the service is not up to snuff, we view a twenty per cent tip as unjustified. Among other things, it promotes an inflated self-image and sloth.

 Foreign Policy
 
The friends of our friends are our friends. The friends of our enemies are our enemies. The enemies of our enemies are our frenemies.

Environmental Policy

If every citizen were to sleep late and stay under the covers an extra hour each morning, we would cut energy consumption by fifty per cent in twenty years. It is important that we stop importing sleep from unstable dictatorships that don't like us. Of course, nobody likes us, but we prefer to be disliked in a sustainable manner. We do this, not just for ourselves, but for our children, who will be disliked long after we are gone. We owe them this legacy.

Health Policy

Whenever journalists solicit the ingredients to longevity from a 129 year-old farmer in Azerbaijan, inevitably, they are regaled with a variation of the following response: "I smoked like a chimney since I was six. I consume plenty of raw garlic, sheep's milk, and lard. I down a pint of whiskey daily. And I don't skimp on the sex." Ever in the vanguard of forward thinking, we adopt this philosophy as our own, and implore the country to practice it post-haste.

Tax Policy

We believe that taxes should be optional.  Of course, we also believe that death should be optional.  Thus, we are prepared to modify this plank as a concession to the "realist" wing of the party, as well as to those members who enjoy paying taxes and losing elections. 

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Remember, winning isn't everything, but it is a thing

Don't wear yourself out working for democracy; make it work for you!

It's the stupid economy. 

(Our slogan runners-up).
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The American Midwest (especially Joplin, MO)  the West, (especially Oklahoma, OK and Montana) and the South (especially Alabama), are still reeling from an unprecedented string of tornadoes and floods that wiped out entire communities during the month of May.  Can you help out?

http://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=content.view&cpid=1248

Thank you on this Memorial Day to all the members of Services and their families for your sacrifice to the Nation.

Seeing Things Through Nose(y)-Colored Glasses

Learn a Word a Day (and then promptly forget it).

Word of the Day: Eggpunimed  egg:pun:im'd  egg/puhn/nihm/ed adj. (from Old English ǣg, German Ei egg; akin to Latin ōvum and Greek ōión combined with Heb. and Yid. punim "face" + the Eng. past participle form --ed ): The condition or state of having egg all over one's face as a result of having to explain to 6 billion people why the world didn't come to an end when you said it would.

Example from literature:  "Well, schmuck, wrong again.  Guess you forgot to account for Daylight Saving's Time. Boy, talk about being eggpunimed. Sorry it didn't work out for you.  We know how much your crazy death cult is really looking forward to everything on the planet being snuffed out.  Better luck next time." (from How Daylight Saving's Time Saved the World, Mandelbaum, Pincus "Ming" [Vanity Press 2011]).

 More at egg and punim and ed.

TO BE IGNORED BY ADRESSEE ONLY. FINAL NOTICE!

Dear Occupant:

If we may be permitted to say, this is not your father's junk mail.  That should be clear from the way it is addressed to you and you, alone -- Occupant.

Nevertheless, we know you are not going to read this.  You are not even going to crack open the envelope before you stuff the whole thing in the shredder. In the old days, when people used to read mail, or, for that matter, to read at all, we were in the habit of mincing words.  Our insurer told us we had to do so, because some of the recipients of our glossy packages actually used to fill out the pre-paid forms, enticed by the representation that they had "definitely" won either: (a) a new house or; (b) a cruise or; (c) a cruise on a new houseboat or; (d) 1,000 pounds of birdseed.  (We used to ship a lot of birdseed in those days).  And of course, the only thing these idiots were doing was putting themselves on our mailing lists for life.  In fact, we hounded many of them to the grave we have heard tell. 

We used to be more polite, because some people were interested in what we had to say. Those days have vamoosed. Today, there is a new sheriff in town shooting from the hip, both guns ablazing, and uttering many words of four letters. 

What we mean is that this is our final notice on this subject. We could tell you that you must respond in 7 days, but what's the point?  You're going to miss the deadline, anyway, so why bother? Besides, we've already sold your data to a re-packager, so there's nothing in it for us.  It would just be going through the motions. We have better things to do. Instead, we want to get a few things off our chest.

For starters, we don't like you.  Never did.  We think you are a jerk. It's not just because you are always throwing our stuff away.  Trust us, it doesn't hurt our feelings.  No, it's the way you are always stowing our materials under a pile of magazines, rediscovering them only when you are on a blitzkrieg to clean the apartment (having just heard that surprise guests are coming over for dinner), opening them on your way to the trash, pausing from your chores momentarily, and suddenly getting drawn in by our promise -- writ large on the inside flap -- of a chance to win instant riches, only to learn that the offer expired yesterday. We know your name is "Occupant," but it might as well be "Luzer." It's a wonder we ever wasted any time on you. Somebody did win that chance.  But it wasn't you, pardner.

Another thing we don't like about you is your expression of moral superiority whenever our notices arrive.  Like, who died and made you king? It would kill you to at least pretend that we are as worthy of your attention as the Notice of Lien you are always getting? (according to our sources). As we have said more than once, the enclosed return address labels festooned with drawings of stick figures demonstrating the Heimlich maneuver are yours to keep. Can the Notice of Lien say that? Did you know that the enclosed return address labels make great gifts?  That's as long as the people you give them to don't mind that it's your address on them. 

While we're on the subject of things we don't much care for, here's another.  It's your habit of insanely scrawling all over the envelope "Not Here!" with Van Gough-like strokes so violently wrought that they perforate part of the plastic window where we were so careful to make sure that your name appeared. Have you ever stopped to think how stupid this is?  You're the occupant, aren't you?  How could you not be here and writing "Not Here!" at the same time? It makes our head spin.  We have to lie down. Is it a wonder that you are whispered about in the neighborhood?

Finally, if you didn't want to be on our mailing list for the past 23 years, why didn't you just leave? Your attitude is, frankly, not helpful.

Well, thanks for allowing us to vent. Look for our exciting announcement coming next week.

Oh, we almost forgot! You have "definitely" won some birdseed.

The Rapture's Coming and I Haven't a Thing to Wear!

Here at Honk if You Like Honking, we have a friendly bet going with Harold Camping, Bible scholar and founder and president of Family Stations, Inc. He says the world is going to end on May 21, 2011.  We say he's wrong.  The loser has to buy the winner a steak dinner.

 

Either way, we think it's a pretty safe bet. 

Apres le Deluge -- Le Delusion

Congratulations on purchasing your new GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM).  You have taken three baby steps forward in the effort to conserve water and save money!

Here are a few things we inadvertently omitted from our Internet promotion. These are things you will need to know in order to make the product work.

First:  You can't just put the GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM) out in the yard, and kiss your water bills "adios il mio ami." No bones about it. (Isaiah 26:19).

Second:  You will need a few tools (NOT INCLUDED with your GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM).  These are:

--  a hacksaw
--  a 30-foot length of iodized super-tensile copper wire. (WARNING: Do not try to skimp on a cheap imitation, as you could get electrocuted!)
--  147 industrial-strength roofing nails
--  a ball-peen hammer
--  a pneumatic drill
--  a backhoe
-- 13 sticks of dynamite
-- a Number 2 pencil

Most of these items can be obtained from general stores.

Some cannot.

Third:  Before attempting to use the above-referenced tools, please consult all applicable local ordinances to determine certification requirements.  if certification is required, and you are not so certified, enroll in an appropriate vocational program. In many cases, financial aid is available.  

Fourth:  Follow the below instructions to the letter. DO NOT SKIP ANY STEP.

A.  Disable ALL underground gas mains appurtenant to your property.
C.  Using the backhoe, dig a test pit approximately 6 feet deep by 3 feet wide.  (Save the dirt; you will need it for later).
D   Lay the sticks of dynamite evenly spaced about 2 inches apart in a cross-hatch pattern.
E.  Evacuate the neighborhood.
F.  Light the dynamite to loosen any shale or large boulders remaining in the substrata.
G. With the Number 2 pencil, make 147 marks in the approximate locations of your home's foundation, siding, and roof where you will be hammering in the roofing nails.
H.  Hammer in the roofing nails. IMPORTANT: Avoid driving the nails all the way through to the interior spaces of your home, as this will cause water-flow to be diverted away from your GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM).
I.    If the walls of the test pit have not collapsed in on themselves, carefully lower the GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM) to the surface taking great care to ensure that it is level with the horizon at the time of the vernal equinox.
J.  Using the hacksaw, carefully cut a 3-foot length from the downspout closest to the location of the test pit. If the downspout closest to the test pit is situated on the abutting property, obtain an easement from a court of competent jurisdiction before proceeding with this step. (You will know that you are sliding the hacksaw at the correct angle if it makes a loud noise somewhat akin to the sound of a screeching baby giraffe galloping away from would-be poachers). 
K.  Lash the copper wire back and forth between the GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM)'s flexi-hose and the hack-sawed downspout.
L.   Because the price of copper has skyrocketed, construction site thefts are commonplace.  This is where the ball-peen hammer comes in.
M.  Using the backhoe, fill the test pit with the loose dirt up to the second yellow line.

Be sure to remove the protective laminate from the bottom of the GreeN RaiN BarreL (TM).

That's it.  You're done.  Simple.

Let it rain!

(Note: Instructions available in Spanish upon written request -- in English)

Sensible Branding for the Feline Demographic

     Would you rather eat a can of Dreck, or a can of Seared Tuna Provençal? To ask the question is to answer it.  But what if you were a cat? One out of one cats surveyed would choose the latter one hundred per cent of the time -- at least for a fleeting moment. Cats, it has been shown, are as captive to the suggestive power of trademarks as is anyone else. And just like everyone else, cats are well aware that labeling for their particular market is, for all intents and purposes, a charade.

     Cats know full well, for example, that virtually all of the cat food in the world is processed in a single factory located on the outskirts of Utica, New York, and consisting, principally, of a gargantuan vat where everything gets smushed into a huge mish mash, and then parceled out to separate containers onto which are pasted labels with names calculated to cloud the consumer with the illusion that their pet is a wit and raconteur, and not just a staging ground for ticks.  Cats know this.  They do.  But they don't want to hear it.

     There is, for the cat, a certain kind of pleasure to be derived from taking just two bites of the Braised Beef Florentine in Gravy before turning up their nose and demanding something else, such as the Wild Salmon Supreme or the Tuscan Chicken Rustico with Mountain Truffles. It's one thing to leave chazzerai from the Cheapo-Mart in one's bowl untouched; it's quite another to lacerate the waiter for having the temerity to serve the Crevette Trois Voies twice in a single week.  In the end, of course, the name of the dish matters not a whit; your cat is not going to eat it.

     And why not?  Because the point of the exercise -- for the cat -- is not to receive sustenance, but, rather, to force you to take out a second mortgage in order to afford the privilege of disappointing him, repeatedly, at dinnertime. Without a doubt, the exotic appellation on the lid will get a rise out of Mr. Fancy Pants Kitty, but only for a nanosecond or so.

  Let's face it; if you are a cat, and  the overwhelming portion of your waking hours are spent, not actually awake doing something productive like earning a million dollars a year for your guardian by starring in television commercials, but, in fact, sleeping and trailing allergens all over the couch, then playing a daily round of "You have got to be kidding!" with your owner is the apex of jocularity.

     But don't worry.  Your cat is not going to starve.

    This is why there are chipmunks.  

     And doorsteps.    

Letter From Abottabad

Sirs:

This is the 2nd time I have written you this month, and it truly would be a wondrous thing to have the instant matter  resolved to the mutual satisfaction of me and my master, who also pays my courier wages and holds my life in his hands.  He is something of a recluse, and hasn't left the compound in the last 5 years or so. I  think you can see, therefore, why it is so very critical to get these movies-by-mail orders correct on the first go-round.  And herein lies the problem.

My master is a huge fan of "Curb Your Enthusiasm."  He has seen Seasons 1 thru 3 complete. (During Season 2, vol. 3, he laughed so hard, he peed in his cloak, and I thought, perhaps he was going to have a hernia, but it was just a false alarm).  I, myself, am humming the theme song from "Curb" as I write this.  I heard my master humming it this morning, and now I can't get it out of my head.

After he completed viewing Season 3, my master took a bit of a hiatus. In fact, we all laid low for months with nothing much to do except watch my master's home-made tapes. (BORING! Just him talking into a microphone in front of a blue wall). After days of this, the mood around the mansion was this side of morose -- if you get my drift. Depressing, to say the least. And worse, no one was able to jolly up my master.  Not even his wife(s) and the silly "doctor" with the black thing on his forehead who used to stop in every now and again and shoot the you-know-what with my master.

Finally, my master had had enough padding around the house humoring the imbecile hangers-on who were always hanging on. One day, without warning, he walked into my quarters and directed me to order the next 3 "Curb" discs. (BTW, he is a "Premium" member, and, thus entitled to have 3 discs out at one time). I dutifully complied.  Or so I thought.  But it had been so long since we had last watched an episode, that I truly could not remember what came next in the series. When the package came from your company with the little return mailer (postage pre-paid), my master was beside himself with joyfulness.  We decided to have a "Curb" marathon that weekend. Some of the gang slaughtered a lamb.  There was talk of popcorn. The whole clan gathered together in the viewing room.  We would have drawn the curtains had the curtains not been perpetually drawn, anyway.

Then I slid the disc into the player.  At first, all was well.  But about 7 minutes into Episode 1, my master said:  "Hey!  We've seen this one before!" I had a sickly feeling that he may have been right, but I was secretly hoping that either my master was having dejavu or that in a few minutes he might not notice.  But it was to no avail.  Soon the others were shouting.  "We've seen this one before!"

My master ordered me to stop the disc and play the next one in the series. But we never got past the main menu. My master started to read the synopsis: "Thanks to Larry's miscommunication on his new cell phone, Richard Lewis' girlfriend succumbs to peanut allergies a week before they're supposed to go to the Emmy Awards. A practicing Christian Scientist, she doesn't take any medicine, so Richard and Larry devise a scheme to cook up some brownies." [The joke is the brownies have Benadryl in them].   Lo and behold, this was enough for my master.  "Idiot!" he screamed.  "You ordered Season 3 all over again! Did you think I wanted to watch the same season twice in a row!?"  Then he took off one of his sandals and began to beat me to within an inch of my life.  The others took off their sandals and threw them at the television screen. Chaos reigned.  The whole while, the theme song from "Curb" just kept playing over and over -- just the few bars.  Then it would stop.  Then it would start again.  The way it does when you are stuck on the main menu. After about 20 minutes of that, you just want to shoot yourself.

After my master finished beating me and recovered his composure, he demanded that I send back Season 3 and order Season 4 without delay. I crawled to my quarters to do his bidding.

Waiting for the replacement discs was the longest week of my life. Do I have to paint you a picture?  I trust not. I practically camped out by the letterbox to make sure that no one else would get to the mail first. When the red mailer with your cheerful little logo on it finally arrived yesterday, I do not have to tell you that it was with some trepidation that I opened it in the privacy of the water closet.  With the door locked. And paper stuffed under the crack. And much superfluous flushing.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I opened up the case and saw the correct disc inside. But then I thought it best to be certain.  I waited until the middle of the night when the entire household was sleeping.  Then I crept down to the viewing room, popped the disc in the player, pushed the mute button, and began to watch.  It was Season 4, alright.  I began scrolling around to be sure. (Episode 1 -- Larry is offered the lead role in Mel Brooks' musical, "The Producers"-- guffaws all round; Episode 2 -- Larry sets up Michael on a "blind" date with a veiled Muslim woman -- too cute!).  But suddenly,  a new problem reared its hideous head.  The disc began to skip. Then it just froze completely. I tried everything -- alcohol, the oil from a machine gun mechanism, ghee -- nothing would clean it satisfactorily. I suppose it is not necessary for me to advise you that I could be in quite a deep hole here as a result of this monumental clusterfuck.  Do you fellows not check the discs before they go out?

My entreaty is as follows: I need you to replace the damaged disc as quickly as possible without any shilly-shallying. Moreover, I should think that giving us a free month is the least you could do after all we've been through. Two months is more like it.

A damaged disc!? This is how you generally treat "Premium" members?  Seriously!

Now, the other important thing is this...for the love of...those bloody helicopters! I can't hear my own thoughts!  It almost sounds like they're landing in the courtyard. So annoying.

Where was I?  Oh yes.  I need you to ensure...

I...Oh this is pointless.  That noise is soooo loud!

Now what?

Hold on.  There's a loud knock on the front door.

I had better go and see who it is just now...